


the spark in your eyes, the look on your face

by oscarmild



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Anxiety Disorder, M/M, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-03
Updated: 2015-10-03
Packaged: 2018-04-24 12:24:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4919482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oscarmild/pseuds/oscarmild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack knows that Kent is his friend- his best friend, even. But lately, it’s been starting to feel like more than just friends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the spark in your eyes, the look on your face

**Author's Note:**

> jack and parse in a hotel room bc ~~fEeLiNgS~~  
> my first time posting fic so let me know how it is!  
> the title is from twin sized mattress by the front bottoms, bc ive been listening to that song on repeat for the past 3 weeks  
> im on the tumblr too @oscarmild

They’re in a hotel room somewhere near Montreal. Coach told them to get to bed early, but that doesn’t stop Kent from pulling a brown bottle of whiskey out of his bag.  
“Hey, do you want some of this?” He asks with a mischievous smile.  
“How did you even get that?”  
“The old lady at the S.A.Q on St Germaine likes me. Says I look like the boy she almost married.”  
He opens the bottle and takes a drink. He acts tough, but coughs at the taste. He offers the bottle to Jack.  
“I’m going to shower first.” 

In the steam filled bathroom, Kent can’t see his shaking hands or hear his breath on the brink of hyperventilation or what he takes to stop it.  
He wears his sweatpants low on his hips, and nothing else.  
He sits next to him on his bed, his hair still wet, and he pretends not to notice Parse noticing the smell of his shampoo, or the curve of his bicep, or the v line of his hips.  
Kent hands him the whiskey bottle and it burns; his hand when he touches him, and the liquor down his throat.  
They talk about school, and their teammates, and the team they’ll face tomorrow - well really, Kent talks and Jack nods, passing the bottle back and forth. They’ve drank about half when Kent asks, “ Do you think it was weird the other night, when we uh ... you know when we ... uh, hooked up?”  
“Yeah.”  
Parse looks away.  
“But it wasn’t bad,” Jack continues. 

The room feels full of electricity, and Jack can’t help but suddenly become self conscious of the fact that he’s wearing nothing but a pair of sweatpants and he notices that the shoulder of Kent’s t-shirt is damp from the water that dripped from his hair and Kent’s looking at him again and -  
-and it’s always like this - standing too close to be casual, finding ways to touch him in a way that’s a bit more than friendly, him looking at him in a way that’s a bit too open. 

Their arms and shoulders and thighs and knees are all touching, and now lips. 

Kent tastes like whiskey and desperation and it feels like winning, almost, disappointing his father, certainly.  
It’s all teeth and tongue and hands and fingers and skin and space. Space between who he is in public, and who he is now; space between the two of them, which he wants to eliminate; and space between who he thought he’d be and who he is. 

//

Kent looks down at Jack and notices that where his ribs meet under his pale skin looks like butterfly wings. Kent reaches out to touch him, to make sure he’s still real, and tentatively runs a finger from his collar bone down the middle of his chest. Jack’s breath catches in his throat. This whole moment feels so outside of time, outside of reality. Like a dream, Kent can’t see past the edges of the bed, past Jack tangled in his white sheets, past his long hair that’s still damp, past his tired, sad, blue eyes. He thinks he looks like an angel, a fallen angel.  
Did I do that? Kent wonders. 

“ Do you want to ... Do you want me to ...?” Kent asks, his hands reaching for answers.  
Jack takes Kent’s hand and pulls him to him. He lays his head on his chest and can hear Jack’s racing heart beat.  
“Let’s just stay like this for a while,” Jack says.  
“Jack, are you okay?”  
He was asking about right now, but also about other night, about the bottles of pills he heard clinking in his pockets and backpack, about the bottles of vodka and whiskey he’d finish half of in one go at parties.  
“Yeah.”  
“You’d tell me if you weren’t, right?”  
“Let’s not tell anyone about this, okay?” Jack whispers.  
“Okay.”


End file.
